


watch you (with the moon)

by darkangel0410



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 11:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13879797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkangel0410/pseuds/darkangel0410
Summary: "On behalf of Ron Hextall, and the entire organization, the Philadelphia Flyers pick, from Rimouski in the Quebec Major Junior League, Sidney Crosby."





	watch you (with the moon)

**Author's Note:**

> So. I started writing this in 2015, and it was suppose to be both a love letter to Sidney Crosby, and my take on how the team you're drafted for shapes the kind of player you are. I had it plotted at in between 40-50k, but then I started to fall out of love with Sid (which, for the record, is no reflection on the kind of player or person he is, it's just my own personal opinion), so I stopped working on it, and then 2016 happened and the Pens beat the Sharks in the Final and I got Very Angry, and I never recovered enough objectivity to finish this, so I finally gave my myself permission to admit it'll never get done.

“Heard your girlfriend finally left you, Malkin,” Sid smirks as they bend over the faceoff dot; he can hear Looch laughing behind him, saying something to Letang. Whatever it was it’s enough to have Letang start shoving him and the refs go to break them up.

“She ever comes back, you can send her my way -I’ll show her what it’s like to fuck a winner for once, eh?”

Malkin bites something out in Russian and Sid doesn’t have to understand it to know when he’s being cursed out. It distracts him enough that Sid can win the draw, shouldering Malkin back while he slides the puck back to Kime, who snaps a fast shot toward the goal.

Not even ten seconds later, Sid passes the puck from behind the net and Looch bangs it home.

“Fuck yeah, baby!” Sid yells in Looch’s ear as everyone comes crashing into them.

He makes sure he catches Malkin’s eye as he skates towards his bench and smirks at him before patting his dick, knowing Malkin gets his point when he glares at him.

“Trying to get him to dance, Croz?” Looch asks with a grin.

“Why the fuck not, might as well see if we can liven this game up some,” Sid laughs before he leans over the boards and starts chirping Staal who’s circling in front of them in between plays.

He doesn’t fight Malkin -the Pittsburgh coaches are careful to keep them separated for the rest of the game- but he goads Staal into dropping the gloves and sends him to the box with a black eye and a split lip despite the fact that Staal has four inches and twenty pounds on him. He ends up netting a power play goal late in the third to get the Gordie Howe.

“Sid, that’s your fourth Gordie Howe hat trick this year,” one of the Penguins beat reporters tell him, a disapproving tilt to his voice.

“Is it?” Sid shrugs easily; he takes the bright orange Flyers hat off his head so he can run his fingers through his hair before settling it back on. “I don’t keep track of that kind of thing, really. You guys do a great job of it for me, though.”

“Your last one was against Pittsburgh, too,” the same reporter went on when the self-conscious laughter had died down. “Why do you think that is?”

Sid smirks slightly, the same gleam in his eye that he got before starting a fight or scoring a game winning goal; he widens his legs, slouches a little bit so the towel slung around his shoulders falls off. “We don’t really get along, do we? I get tired of listening to Pittsburgh on the ice, same as a lot of people. I’m not afraid to do something about it, though.”

“You worried about tomorrow night, Sid?” Dave asked him, trying to hide a smile when Sid rolled his eyes. “Nice bruise, by the way.” 

“Does it look like I’m worried about Malkin and his band of merry men?” Sid grins, cocky and knowing that he had every right to be; it pulls a little bit, stings enough to remind him that Staal had gotten him in the cheek before he went down. “I could blindfold myself and still score a hatty on them, come on.”

He wraps up fairly quickly after that, the media heading out once they get quotes from Milan and some of the other guys.

Sid finishes getting dressed, not bothering to do more than loosely putting his tie on and carrying his suit jacket. He’s never been fond of Pittsburgh, even before he started clashing with Malkin so much -it made him twitch when he remembered that he had almost been drafted there instead of Philadelphia.

He snorts as he leaves the visitor’s locker room, stuck with _Malkin_ this whole time? They probably would have killed each other.

Sid’s not surprised to see Milan waiting outside, leaning against the wall, checking his phone and ignoring the huge Russian standing in front of him with the kind of casual disdain that Milan excelled at.

“Your fan club had to make itself known,” Milan tells him, a slight sneer to his voice; off ice he was generally one of the most easy-going people Sid had ever been around, but he could be a dick when he put his mind to it, and for whatever reason, he liked to go out of his way to needle Malkin. “I told him you -”

“I’m here to see Crosby,” Malkin interrupts him, his eyes fixed on Sid. “You can go now.”

“Thanks, I’m good here,” Milan doesn’t bother looking up from his phone but Sid can see him smirk when Malkin makes a frustrated sound.

“What do you want, Malkin?” Sid asks him, not even trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. “If we’re late getting to the plane, Lavvy’s going to bag skate me until I pass out.”

“You get in trouble? Thought you do whatever you want and get away with it,” Malkin says, an irritated edge to his voice.

It’s not really any of Malkin’s business how much Sid did and didn’t get away with; he knew there were plenty of people who thought the Flyers organization let him run wild -all he had to do was put on Hockey Night in Canada any given Saturday and Don Cherry would be yelling about it for at least ten minutes- but when it came to hockey, they had him on a tight leash and Sid knew it, even appreciated it for the most part. There were things that he didn’t mess with: working out, practice, morning skate, games. Hockey meant too much for him to fuck around with it.

But off ice stuff -going out, partying, drinking, whatever- as long as he didn’t hurt himself or get arrested, they let him do whatever he wanted.

“Yeah, right, even I can’t hold up the bus without paying for it,” Sid scoffs before he leans a shoulder next Milan’s and looks Malkin over deliberately enough to make him flush. “So unless you’re going to suck my dick, hurry it up.”

“I want to ask why you play this way,” Malkin says, his voice low and angry. “I’m see you play in Worlds and know you the best. So why play like, like this one? Like you no better than that?”

Malkin makes his point by jabbing his finger in Milan’s direction, his anger obvious even if Sid doesn’t understand it.

“I’m pretty sure I’m insulted,” Milan comments mildly, long used to the people who insisted he wasn’t good enough to skate on Sid’s wing.

He doesn’t even sound put out, let alone upset, but it’s enough to irritate Sid. “I don’t know why you think I give a shit what you think, Malkin, but maybe I should remind you that the only person in this hallway without a Cup ring is you.” 

Malkin takes a step closer to them and Sid tenses up in preparation of a fight; despite his seeming inattention, Sid can feel Milan doing the same.

“Geno, man, come on,” Letang calls out, coming around the corner; he’s in a game day suit, black and purple, wearing a look of disgust that makes Sid nudge Milan and share a grin with him. “We have to leave soon and you’re not even dressed all the way.” 

“Yeah, better listen to your boyfriend, Malkin,” Sid taunts, not bothering to keep his voice down.

“ _Taire_ , asshole,” Letang tells them dismissively as he starts leading Malkin away.

“ _Vis que vous avez_ ,” Milan calls after them cheerfully as they make their way down the opposite end of the hall, his accent making Sid wince; he’s pretty sure if Danny could hear him, he’d be tempted to cry.

Sid catches Letang’s look of surprise before he starts giving Milan shit about his French.

They barely make it to the bus on time, but Laviolette just gives them a long look before he turns and tells the driver to leave and head for the plane.

By the time they get to back to Philadelphia, Sid’s forgotten about the whole incident with Malkin in the hallway. Mostly, at least.

*

“Fuck you, Malkin,” Milan hisses out before he shakes off his gloves; he can see Sid in his peripheral vision, his expression torn between worried and amused while the refs skate over to keep an eye on things.

It’s not a long fight really, not with the way Milan’s seething from just seeing Malkin; Malkin tries to grab the front of his jersey, but Milan just squares off and starts punching, not really paying attention to where the punches land. He can feel the satisfying give of Malkin’s skin under his hands, hear him grunting in pain.

The refs finally break it up, escort each of them to their respective boxes. Milan smirks when he sees Malkin going down the tunnel after the ref takes a good look at him; he knew for a fact he’d gotten Malkin in the mouth a couple times and he’d be surprised if he hadn’t knocked out a few of the other man’s teeth.

“That’s the second time, Lucic, once more and you’re done for the game,” the ref warns him before the door closes and he skates off.

The crowd’s going crazy, yelling and banging the glass, everyone in Flyers orange booing when the Penguins go on the power play.

It’s only November, but it feels like it’s April -the crowd energized, reacting to the way both teams are going for the jugular. There’s always been bad blood between the two of them, but it’s more personal now and the fans are picking up on it even if they don’t know why.

Milan doesn’t know if Malkin told anyone on his team what happened over the summer or if they ever even knew that he was sleeping with Sid in the first place, but they definitely picked up on the fact that this was going to be a rougher game than usual. 

And that he was determined to make Malkin miserable all game.

By the third, there’s already been a parade to and from both boxes; the refs have just started letting a lot of stuff go, turning a blind eye to the slashes and trips that seem to be happening every shift and watching for anything more serious.

Sid’s killing his faceoffs so far, winning most of them cleanly -although, Milan’s seen him use Danny B’s old trick a few times on Malkin, driving the knob of his stick into Malkin’s chin to get him to back off the puck so Sid can get to it easier.

He gets sent off for it once when he gets Malkin in the lip and makes him bleed, Milan makes a note of where the skin split while he’s killing the resulting four minute minor off; if he’s going to get tossed for another fight, he’s sure as hell going to make it a good one.

Just as he gets out the box, Sid cleanly checks Malkin over the boards and into his team’s laps and the whole bench takes exception to it; Lovejoy grabs a hold of Sid’s jersey and tries to haul him over the boards, cursing him out in French.

Both teams converge in front of the Penguins bench, Raffy and DZ are the closest, so they’re the first ones there. DZ reaches over, punching Lovejoy repeatedly to get him to let go of Sid. He catches him in the ear and Lovejoy finally lets go of Sid to mix it up with DZ, who has no issue with fighting someone who’s still on the bench.

Raffy’s talking shit to Dupuis, clearly trying to get him to start something and Sid is still pressed against the boards, spitting something at Malkin, who’s finally standing up.

There’s pockets of fighting spread out on the ice, everyone getting their frustrations out; Milan’s not surprised when he ends up tussling with Letang, who seems intent on strangling Milan with his own jersey. 

“You’re such a piece of shit,” Letang manages to get out when the refs pull them apart; Milan had shoved the other man around a little, as much as he could with the grip Letang had had on him, but there’s was no way he was getting thrown out before he had another go at Malkin. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem,” Milan repeats scornfully. One of the refs are skating Letang to the box and the other ushering Milan to the Flyers side of the ice. “Ask your captain about my problem, asshole.”

He leans around the ref to yell the last word and gets shoved away from Letang and towards his own bench for his trouble. “Stay there, eh? We need to sort this out without adding you to the mix.”

Milan tries to look innocent but there’s a few reasons he never got an ‘A’ after Richie and Carts, and later on, Hartsy, were traded and the fact that he got the side-eye from every on ice official he came into contact with was the biggest.

“What did you mean before,” Letang asks him later on; Milan’s barely paying attention to him, if he’s honest: they’re winning 4-2 right now and he’s trying to decide the best time to get his last fight in with Malkin. “About G? Why would he even care about you?”

“Jesus, Letang, it’s not my fault that Malkin can’t be assed to tell you anything,” Milan tells him with a smirk. “If he won’t tell you, that’s your problem.”

“You’re such a pussy, Malkin,” Milan taunts as they’re pushing each other on the side of the faceoff -they’re on a pk, Ghost in the box for punching Cullen in the face, less than five to go before they win the game. If Milan plans this right, they’re going to spend a good chunk of that on the power play.

Malkin’s ignores him, his eyes fixed on the faceoff where the ref is dropping the puck again.

“Too bad you fight about as well as you fuck,” Milan goes on, smirking when Malkin gives him a sharp look before his eyes cut to Sid, who’s arguing with the refs about something. “Please, you think he didn’t tell me? Hell, he told me all about your...assets,” he adds, leaning closer, so he was within kissing distance.

“There’s nothing worse than a guy with big dick who doesn’t know how to use it, eh? Just stabbing at you, it blows. Even worse when he thinks he’s great,” Milan tells him, half an eye on the play in front of them. “Good thing Sid’s better than that, eh? Such a perfectionist, always gotta be the best at everything. And his _mouth_ , Jesus, it’s made -”

Malkin turns towards him with a snarl; he drops his stick on the ice, his gloves quickly following and Milan sneers at Malkin, waiting for him to curse in Russian and punch him in the face -hard, too, and Milan is fairly impressed by it, that jab was no love tap- before he shakes his gloves to ice and starts laying into him.

 

The refs finally yank him off of Malkin and it takes Milan a second to realize he’s not even yelling in English any more as he gets escorted off the ice and shown down the tunnel. Before he gets off the ice, he turns around and yells, making sure it’s in English this time, “Suck my dick, Malkin,” and he grabs his crotch so it’s pretty clear what he means.

It’s later on, after the pressers and the lectures from the coaching staff and the high fives and smirks from everyone else, that Milan is in the hallway, in most of his suit and he sees Letang. Before he can decide if he should duck back in the locker room -as much as he enjoyed every second on the ice and would do it over again in a heartbeat- Milan’s pretty sure he shouldn’t get into a fist fight off the ice.

**Author's Note:**

> Some bulletpoints for this verse that never got hashed out in the actual fic:
> 
> -Flyers won the Crosby lottery and obviously, it changed everything. 
> 
> -Sid still gets his teeth knocked out, but he hardly ever remembers to put his fake ones in. He just genuinely can’t be bothered.
> 
> -He’s really only clean shaven a couple times a year, at the beginning of the season and at the start of the playoffs.
> 
> -He has more goals, assists and fights than anyone else in his draft class.
> 
> -Flyers draft Milan Lucic, he becomes Sid's bff and long-time line mate. (Think Bergy and Marchy, with Bergy being as fighty as Marchy is.)
> 
> -Danny Briere gets traded to the Flyers in the summer of '06. Sid and Looch stay in his spare room(s) for almost three years before they moved out.
> 
> -They won the Cup with the Flyers in ‘09; Sid got the Conn Smythe, but Looch had the gwg in Game 7.
> 
> -He dislikes the Pens. No, really, he hates them and doesn’t bother trying to hide it.
> 
> -He’s just as quick to throw a punch as he is to score a goal.
> 
> -Hockey Canada -especially Don Cherry- are constantly complaining that the Flyers organization has let him run wild.
> 
> -There’s pics of Sid and Looch drunk off their asses, shirtless, at a club in downtown Philly, partying with the Cup and half the roster -including Richie and Carts. Who are also inexplicably shirtless.
> 
> -He gets the C after Richie and Carts get traded. (Looch never gets an A. Not ever. Refs give him the side eye too much.)
> 
> -He still meets Geno. They still end up fucking. It doesn't end well, mostly due to miscommunication on both their parts.
> 
> -Sid ends up with Looch, in the end. Years of friends with benefits build up and they get back together after the Flyers second Cup win (2017, in case anyone's curious.)
> 
> -the Pens don't have any Cups in this verse, because I think Sid *is* that important to them.


End file.
